


Adventures of Jaq, Sith Assassin

by sinnerman



Series: Daughters of the Heavens, Sons of the Sith [3]
Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens between, what happened before.  Does it matter?  Is it not our experiences that make us what we are?  This story happens in between, but should be read third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Assassination of Rudda The Hutt

"Rudda, Major Karis from the Sith has requested another loan.  She sent a present to go along with her request."  The servant handed over the bottle of rare Corellian brandy.

"An excellent gift," growled the Hutt.  "Approve her request."  Rudda signed to one of the slaves to pour him a glass, and tasted the brandy.  "Most excellent," he smiled.  The brandy was unadulterated, as far as Rudda could tell, not that it mattered.  Hutts do not fear poisons, they savor the unusual taste.

"Thevi'Sardon is here to ask for an extension on his loan," began the servant, but the nervous Twi'lek interrupted.

"Oh, great and powerful Rudda-"

"Shut up," growled the Hutt, his gross bulk quivering with rage.  "I've given you more than enough time.  Flattery won't pay your debts."

"Of course, Rudda, but cash is hard to come by these days," whined the Twi'lek nervously.  "But I thought, perhaps, I could trade something that I won last night."

"Indeed?"  Rudda raised a curious eyebrow.  "And what might this be?"

"Ah, a rare and unusual find, great Rudda, something you have never seen before," Thevi said eagerly, and waved to a servant to bring in his gift.

"I am over four hundred years old, fool.  I have seen many things," snarled the Hutt, but stopped at the strangely rhythmic noise made by the creature entering the room.

It was a slave, dressed in softly whispering silks of every color, and covered from head to toe in a blood-red veil tinged with gold and fringed with discs of some metal that rang sweetly with every graceful step.

Rudda sat up a little straighter, trying to reconcile what was before his eyes with what his other senses were telling him.  For once, the nervous Twi'lek had the sense to stay silent.  The slave stopped, just before entering the dancer's area.  Rudda beckoned the slave forward, and with a swift, graceful motion, the slave drew off the silken veil before he stepped up to the dancer's dais.  There was an audible gasp from every guard in the room, and the Hutt himself was surprised as well.

Such things were not unheard of, but they were so rare as to be almost legendary.  He was Human, with long, soft dark hair and soft, pale skin.  He didn't look up, but kept his dark eyes down, watching the floor, perhaps out of shyness, perhaps out of humility, perhaps to show off his absurdly long lashes.  Somewhere, the music started, and the boy started to dance, sinuous, graceful, undeniably erotic.  His hands, decorated with blood-red slave marks, flashed as he twisted and turned.  His feet, barely covered in strips of black leather that gave him enough traction on the floor for dancing, seemed to trace flowing patterns as he swept across the floor.

The boy paused in the center of the floor, drawing himself up to his full height, his arms raised above his head, displaying every curve and line of his lithe body.  Rudda was conscious of an uncomfortable heat in the room as his blood moved faster through his gargantuan bulk.  For a heartbeat, the boy was perfectly still, then he began to dance again, even faster than he had before.  The boy fell to his knees now, fascinating and sensual, suggestively moving his body with the same rhythm as the music.

Rudda shifted slightly, and beckoned to a servant to lower the temperature in the room.  He wondered to himself where that Twi'lek fool had won a Corellian dancing boy.  Despite their size and apparent grossness, Hutts are not stupid.  They think very quickly, and can move if they want to.  Most of the time, they simply don't want to.  "A Corellian," snarled Rudda, and he looked down at the brandy.  Hutts don't believe in coincidences – especially not when they know that people are trying to kill them.  Rudda tried to take a deep breath, but found that he couldn't, and looked at the boy again.  He had risen from the floor, moving with the swift grace of a snake – and just as lethal.  One swift leap took him from the dancer's dais to Rudda's platform.

The Hutt roared in anger, as he finally realized that the poisoned brandy had slowed his reflexes, and was constricting his breathing tubes.  Sith blades appeared in the boy's hands, coated with the same drug that was in the brandy, and to Rudda's amazement, the boy continued dancing as he attacked.  The Hutt tried to swat the young Human, but he smoothly jumped away, still twisting sinuously, still moving in perfect time with the music.  The knives cut deeply, ripping away the outer layer of the Hutt's skin.  The music built to a crescendo, and suddenly the boy jumped away.  Rudda's huge eyes saw the Sith officer readying a rocket, and he growled in fury as he realized that the Sith had already taken the credit chit, knowing that it would never need to be repaid.  She fired a heavy rocket into the Hutt's exposed chestplate as the boy dodged behind the dais to hide himself from the coming explosion.

The Hutt howled in fury, but died in a fireball of bile and gore nevertheless.

At the Hutt's death, the Twi'lek drew a dark red lightsaber, and dropped the humble, nervous personality that had served him so well for the past month, as he began killing everyone who didn't have the good sense to run or surrender.

Ignoring the screams and the combat around him, the boy cleaned off his blades and hid them away again, then walked to the center of the room and continued dancing.


	2. The Seduction

There is nothing to see, only sounds.  Only voices.  A door opens.

A man speaks.  Quiet.  Appreciative.  "Who are you?"

"Oh!"  Frightened.  "I'm sorry, my Lord – I thought this room was empty."  The voice is a boy's, sweet, young.  Almost a man.  But not quite.

Surprised.  "I thought – it doesn't matter."  Reassuring.  "I remember you now, the little runaway from Corellia.  Weren't you assigned to Kavar's fleet?  I thought you went home when the war was over.  What are you doing here?"  Perhaps walking across the room.

Defiant.  "I ran away again, and came back to serve Revan."

The man laughs.  "A loyalist, I see.  Who are you hiding from?"

"Oh, it's nothing."  Nervous.  Lying.  Scared.  "They just get really loud and rough sometimes.  I don't want to whine about it, so I just hide."  Explaining.  "Usually, this room is empty.  I'm very sorry for bothering you, my Lord." Apologetic.  Pleading.

"I see."  Calm.  Amused.  "It's no bother.  Usually, I'm on the Misericordia with Lord Revan.  I just came here to clean up the backlog of orders."  The sound of a body settling into leather.  A large one.  A softer noise follows – perhaps the boy is sitting with him.

"Oh, do you need any help, my Lord?  I can help you with that."  Eager.  Willing.

Indulgent.  "I would appreciate it."

Working.  Reading numbers.  Organizing.  The door opens.

A servant.  "Your dinner, my Lord."  Slightly questioning.

Brusque.  "Set it down, you may go."

"As you command, my Lord."

Nervous, again.  "I didn't realize how late it was, my Lord.  I apologize for intruding."

Gentle.  "There's no need for you to leave, child.  There's plenty of food.  Help yourself."

Grateful.  "Thank you, my Lord."

The meal is shared.  Appreciated.  Set aside.  Working.  The work is done.

"Well, that's all done finally.  You've been very helpful."  Questioning.  "You're still frightened of them.  Would you like me to walk you back to your quarters?"

Frightened?  Terrified.  "Uh- please.  Please, my Lord, can I just stay here with you?  It will just be for tonight.  They'll be gone tomorrow!"

Stern.  "Do you always hide from your fears?"

Ashamed.  Young.  "I – I'm not big enough to fight back, my Lord.  Or strong enough.  I know what will happen if I lose."  Slightly bitter.

Angry.  "How dare – "  Checks himself as he remembers who he is, what he is, where he is.  Sighs.  "Of course, you may stay here.  Do you always hide in this room when I'm not here?"  Amused.

Nervous, once more.  "Yes, my Lord.  Usually, no one sees me come in."

Amused.  "Well, I suppose one more black mark on my reputation won't matter.  Come, let's get some rest."

Grateful.  "Thank you, my Lord.  I can sleep – "

Gentle laughter.  Strangely understanding.  "There's no need for that.  There's plenty of room."

Shy.  "As you wish, my Lord."  Offering.  "I'll do anything you want."

Surprised.  Confused, perhaps.  "There's no need for you to do anything."

Soft.  "I know."  Willing.  "But I will, if you wish it."  Belatedly remembering.  "My Lord."

"My name is Malak."


	3. The Senator

The girl's sobbing was the loudest noise in the room.  She was shocked, horrified, humiliated.  The young man – the one she had promised to marry – walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her father's fury and other – the young man who had seduced her.

Coldly, her father demanded to know how he intended to rectify the situation.  She listened, shame burning her pale cheeks as he calmly explained the laws of honor.  She waited, resigned and patient, for him to say that he would repair her shattered life in the only way possible.

He laughed.

He had a beautiful laugh, dark and imperious.  It was part of his charm.  He was wicked, and heartless, but this – to do this – even he could not do it.  Could he?

Her father repeated himself, more firmly this time.  Demanding.

He refused outright this time.  Worse.  He called her father a liar.  He called her a slut.  He cast aspersions on her father's ability to raise his daughters.  He claimed that he had not been her first.  He lied.

There was only one way that this could end.  Her father challenged him.  Such an act was unusual, but the laws of honor permitted it.  For an Echani father to allow his daughter to be so dishonored and do nothing was impossible.

He shrugged, indifferent, and asked if he could have someone fight for him – as it was her father defending her honor, he pointed out, he should be allowed a champion as well.

Her father was also indifferent.  He could as easily kill a hired mercenary as he could some spoiled Corellian brat.

Not a mercenary.  His adoptive mother.  He had the paperwork to prove it, he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

Mother.  Mercenary.  The senator didn't care.  He wanted to defend his daughter's honor, and force the boy to make amends.

He smiled at that, and bent low over her hands.  Graceful and courtly, the way he had been when they had first met.  When he had convinced her to give up everything that he wanted.  "If she loses, I will marry you, and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy," he promised.

She smiled, seduced by his charms all over again.  Her father frowned.  A father sees what a daughter does not.

He had no intention of marrying her.

His adoptive mother.  The Dark Lord of the Sith.  The only currently living Grandmaster of Jar'Kai.

It was a trap.  It was an excellent trap.  Bound by the laws of honor, he had to fight.

His daughter watched in horror as the blades met.  She was Echani, just like her father, and she knew that he had gone to his death to try and save her honor.  She met the eyes of the one who had drawn them into this net – the betrayer.  The seducer.

He was smiling.

Revan knew her opponent.  She knew his speed.  She knew the weaknesses of his form.  She knew that he was old, and that he feared.  He feared for what would happen to his fallen daughter, what would happen to the other daughters, what would happen to his wife.  He feared because the same arcane laws that bound him to fight meant that his sons could not.  He feared because if he fell now, they would have no protectors.  She drank in his fear, she fed on his sorrow.  She didn't even need to taunt him.  He defeated himself long before her blade sank into his chest, ripped through his spine.

Revan watched his body fall to the floor with a feeling of gratitude, more than satisfaction.  She had waited for this for a long time.  There had always been that chance, that small chance, that he would escape again, using the torturous laws of Echani honor to escape the duel.  But she had avenged her teacher at last.  He had paid deeply for his sins.  He had finally made amends.

Revan sheathed her blades, and the boy danced up to her, charmingly wicked, rejoicing in her success, mocking the pain of the fallen.

The girl stood, shaking slightly, but she knew that it had to be done.  There was nothing left for her here.  She would only shame her sisters if she stayed, keeping them from moving on with their lives.  She stepped forward, off the platform.

He waved to her, as she plummeted past, then turned back to Revan.  "Does this mean I'm not your son anymore?"


	4. The Assassination of the Fallen Jedi Coranus Taan

He used to be a hero.  Mical looked over sadly as the Jedi ordered yet another drink.  How had he fallen so far?

Taan poured the liquor down his throat, and tried to pretend he didn't know the Republic soldier was watching him.  "Bodyguard," he muttered.  "I was fighting Mandalorians while you were still in diapers.  I can take care of myself."

Mical ignored his drunken ramblings, and continued to watch the patrons of the bar.  A mole had tipped them off that Taan was on Revan's list – a Jedi to be turned, or killed.  So long as there was a chance that Taan could recover from his depression – be a hero again – he had to be protected.  So Mical watched.  He played idly with the glass of water in front of him, making the ice cubes dance around each other.

"Stop that noise," growled Taan.  "Why don't you just go away?"

Mical sighed, and looked around the bar again, waiting for Taan to stop drinking or pass out, whichever came first.

A group of teenagers staggered into the bar.  All were dressed to catch the eyes, preferably the eyes of someone wealthy enough to keep them for a few days.  Some were drunk, some were chemically intoxicated.  One was beautiful.

Mical thought of all the heart-broken recriminations he had heard from his past lovers.  "Why can't I ever be enough for you?"  "What you want doesn't exist!"  But he did exist, and Mical knew if he could have him, even if it was only for one night, it would be enough.

He had dark hair, soft and thick and it moved when he did.  Dark eyes, so unlike his own, with long, dark lashes.  Slender hands, with elegant fingers that looked as though he'd never done anything more strenuous than beckoning someone to bed.  Slim, graceful hips over long, lithe legs.  But most of all, it was his smile.  His wicked, sweet smile.

Mical, in his battered armor, drinking a glass of water, was quickly dismissed from their eyes.  He didn't have enough money to talk to them, let alone pay for a night in one of their rooms.  Taan, on the other hand, seemed to be a more promising mark.  Mical cringed as the beauty walked up to the beastly drunk.

"No fun drinking alone, is it?  Buy me a drink.  I'll keep you company," he said invitingly.  His smile was dazzling.

Taan grunted, but allowed the bartender to bring a glass over.  Mical had to look away as the young man poured himself a drink from Taan's bottle, sidling ever closer to the fallen Jedi.  Why would someone so beautiful be a prostitute?

"Leave me alone," snarled Taan, and slapped his hands away.

The young man pouted, mocked, started over, gently touching Taan's arm, tracing the outline of the muscles there.  Mical stared at his glass.  It was impossible that someone like that could really think that Taan was attractive.

"I said, leave me alone!"  Taan grabbed the young man, slammed him into the bar, his hands at the young man's throat.  "Damn you, I'm not going to fall –"

Mical moved without thinking.  His hand grabbed the bottle, swung it.  He heard it shatter, felt a bone in Taan's face shift under the blow.  The Jedi staggered back, clutching at his face, trying to pull out the broken glass.  Mical was between him and the young man.

"You idiot!" raged Taan.  The Jedi lifted a table with the Force, and sent it flying at Mical.

Mical moved swiftly, still covering the young man, and dodged it as best he could under the circumstances.  He felt his arm snap as the table hit him, but the pain wasn't too terrible.  Some of the other soldiers had finally moved, and wrestled the drunken Jedi away.  Mical stood up again, still half dazed, and tried to help the beautiful young man back to his feet.

He was smiling.

Mical tried to stammer something, some kind of explanation, but the words wouldn't come out.

"You really shouldn't meddle in things that don't concern you," laughed the young man.  He burst into laughter at Mical's confusion, then pounced on him, careful of the soldier's wounded arm, and gave him a kiss before he turned and ran out of the bar.

Perhaps 'kiss' wasn't the right word.  Was there a word for the act of simultaneously pressing your entire body against another, pressing your incredibly warm, soft lips on another's lips, entwining your hands in someone's hair, and whispering 'Thank you' so softly that someone would think they were hallucinating?

At any rate, that's what he did, and left Mical silent and dazed, staring at the space where he had been.

"Dammit, Mical!  Where is he?  Don't tell me you let the little whore get away?"

"Who?"

"Wake up, you idiot!  That kid who was pawing Taan.  Where is he?  Or that bottle they were drinking out of?"

Mical pointed wordlessly at the glass on the floor.

"Oh, fuck me," groaned the commander.  "We'll never get enough to find an antidote in time."

"Antidote?"

"He was an assassin.  He poisoned Taan."

"Oh."

Whore or assassin, he didn't care.  He just wanted to see him again.


	5. The Submission

Still nothing to see.  Still only sounds.  Words.

A door opens.

"What?"  Surprised.  Angry.  Disturbed.  "You again?  Are you lost?"

A soft noise, a word unspoken.  "I –"

"Get out."  Angry.  "I don't have time for your games, Jaq."

"My Lord, I –"  It is the boy again, a little older.  But not very much.

Weary.  "What do you want, boy?  Did Revan send you here to humiliate me again?"

"No!"  Insistent.  "I – "  Unsure.  Young.  Too young.

"Then what is it?"  Snarling.  "What do you want?"  Shocked.  "What's wrong?"

A sob.  Cloth rustles, leather creaks.  Perhaps it is a young man falling to his knees, and a Sith Lord standing up?

Questioning.  "Is this another one of your games, Jaq?"

"No, Malak.  I just – I don't know what to say.  I just – I don't want you to hate me.  I've never cared about that before, not from anyone, but I – I just can't take it from you."  Choked with tears.  Interrupted by sobs.  Soft.  Quiet.

Amused.  "This is a game, isn't it?  You aren't serious."

Bitter.  "I know, I can't make you believe me.  I don't know how."

The rhythmic sound of footsteps.  Pacing back and forth.  "Is this your idea of an apology?"  Angry, but subdued.  Confused.

Softly.  "People apologize when they wish they hadn't done something."

Dry.  "So you're glad that you lied to me."

Passionate.  "I'll say anything you want if it will make you kiss me again."

Startled.  "What?"  Nervous.  "Get up, stop looking at me like that."

"Malak – "

Demanding.  "How about the truth, this time?  Do you even know how?"  Impatient.  "I still can't believe I fell for your pack of lies."

"I wasn't lying!"  A cry, almost hysterical.  "It wasn't a lie!  This isn't a lie!"  Movement.

A startled gasp.  The sound of a kiss, then another, then a tiny sob, before the unmistakable sound of two bodies coming to rest.  The rustling of silken sheets.  Passionate kisses.  An angry growl.  A slap.  A cry of pain.  A body moving away, Malak panting, trying to regain control.

Bitter.  "Damn you."

"Please…."  Sobbing.

A strangled cry of passion, restraint lost.  "Damn you!  Why are you doing this to me?"  Kissing.  A soft cry of pleasure, young, wanton.  "Jaq… this is wrong, you know it is."

Unsure. "What do you mean?"  Defiant.  "Why is it wrong?"

Kissing.  Caressing.  "The fact that you don't know why this is wrong is the worst part."  A soft laugh.  Surprisingly gentle.  "I'm glad you're here."

"Malak."  Sweet.  Pleased.  A soft moan.

"I should have known, the first time.  You weren't a virgin.  They never are."

A shy laugh.  "That's not my fault, is it?"  A kiss.

Curious.  "How old were you?  The first time you took a lover?"

Cold, bitter.  "Took or was taken?"

Gentle.  "There was a difference?"

Reluctant.  "I'm not strong.  You did notice that, right?"  Hurt.  Not as willing.  "I was – taken – for the first time when I was twelve."  Tense breathing.  A kiss.  Softly.  "The first time I took someone by my own choice, I was – " A pause, thinking.  "Sixteen."

Shocked.  "Who would –"

Interrupting.  "It doesn't matter.  We won't speak ill of the dead."  Darkly amused.  Another kiss.  Another.  A sigh, soothed.  Caressing.

"What happened to them – whoever it was?"  Wondering.  Concerned.

Laughter, dark and rich.  Not so sweet.  Not so young.  "I did.  I killed – whoever it was."  Wry amusement.  No more.

Questioning.  "You've killed?  You don't look it."  Curious.

Laughter again, dark.  Bitter.  Hurt.  "I was six the first time I killed someone.  It was an accident."  Challenging.  "The first time I killed someone on purpose, I was twelve."  Bitterly amused.  "I've frightened you."

Understanding.  Apologetic.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to look like that.  It's just – you don't look old enough, or Dark enough.  I - Does it bother you?  My asking you questions like this?"  So strange to hear a Sith Lord so kind, so gentle.

"I don't mind."  Cold.  A kiss.  "You wanted me to tell you the truth."  Warmer.  Another kiss.  A soft whimper of pleasure, a caress.

"How old are you?"  Sudden.  Surprised.  Wondering.  Calculating in his head, no doubt.

"I'm sixteen."

Silence.

Amused.  Explaining.  "My birthday was a few days ago."

"When we –"

Softly.  "Yes."

"I see."


	6. The Fall of Perten Damonaides, Padawan of the Jedi Councilor Zez-Kai Ell

"Are you ready?" he whispered.  "How do I look?"

The Twi'lek grinned.  "Good enough to eat," he said, his voice low so that it wouldn't carry through the thin walls.

"You would know, wouldn't you?"  They heard a door close on the level below, and he smiled at his companion, nodded to let him know the performance should begin.

The Twi'lek threw an empty bottle across the room, and he screamed, cutting off the noise as the Twi'lek slapped him.  The sound was loud, but the blow a glancing one, and they grinned at each other, trying not to laugh.

"No!  Stop it!" he screamed, his voice ringing with terror as they continued their noisy, mock struggle.  "Please!  Please, don't!"

On the floor below, a young man paced back and forth.  He could hear the screams of pain, the sounds of a vicious beating.  His Master had warned him not to interfere, but it was hard.  He pulled his robes tighter around himself, wondering if there was a point to being a Jedi when he wasn't allowed to protect anyone.

"When those bruises heal," he heard the Twi'lek snarl, "I expect to see you on the streets earning your keep.  If you don't like it, find somewhere else!"  There was the sound of one more blow, and he heard someone fall to the floor.  The door slammed, and he heard the Twi'lek moving around the hall above.

The Jedi waited a few moments, then opened the window and climbed up to the room above.  He knew the latch on the window was broken, and he quietly slipped into the room.  He looked around, to make sure the Twi'lek was really gone.  "Jaq," he whispered as loudly as he dared.  The young prostitute lay on the floor, his dark hair over his eyes, shivering.  The Jedi knew it wasn't from the cold.  "Dammit."  He ran over and knelt by his side, helped him to a sitting position.

"Perten?" he gasped, choking back a sob.  His dark eyes were wide with surprise, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.

Perten stroked his face, easing the pain and wiped away some of the blood.  "Yes, it's me."

He whimpered softly, touching the Jedi's chest as if to make sure he was real.  "I thought you said you weren't coming back," Jaq rested his head on the coarse brown robes, and tried to hold back the tears running down his beautiful face.  "You said you couldn't help me anymore."

"I was wrong," said Perten softly.  He knew his Master would be angry with him, but he couldn't leave Jaq like this.  Jaq wasn't old enough – or strong enough – to be out on his own.  He gently touched the frail hands, covered them with his own.  "When was the last time you ate?"

Jaq looked down, and shook his head.  "I'm fine, I just – "  He closed his eyes, and a tear fell from his absurdly long lashes.

"You're not fine," Perten insisted.  He could feel the slender body trembling in his arms.  He sighed.  "I'll let you take one hit, Jaq, but no more.  This has to stop."

"I tried," Jaq said weakly, "I really did."  He choked back another sob, and hid his face against the Jedi.  "I tried."

"I know."  The Jedi resisted to urge to kiss Jaq's soft, dark hair, and instead helped him stand up.  "Where's your stash?  Did he take it all?"

Jaq shook his head.  "You know, I think I'd rather have some food."  He smiled sweetly, and coughed a little.  "Maybe a drink?"  He wiped his face, making an effort not to appear so helpless and weak.

Perten smiled, pleased to see that Jaq really was trying.  "Okay.  Come on, let's get out of here before he comes back."  He put his arm around Jaq, and helped him to the window.  He lifted Jaq into his arms, and jumped back down to the room he was sharing with his Master.  He sighed in relief when he saw that the room was still empty.  He set Jaq down, making sure that he was steady on his feet before leading him out into the back halls where there was less chance of running into the people they were trying to avoid.

Jaq slipped his hand into Perten's, seeking the reassuring strength of his touch.  Perten tried not to smile, and only clasped his hand a little tighter.  Perten led him to the nicer part of the market, and brought a decent meal from one of the open-air stalls there.  They hid in an abandoned warehouse and ate quickly so that none of the other refugees would try to steal their food.

Jaq grinned, and flicked one of the seeds from his fruit at Perten with a small laugh.

"Grow up," smiled the Jedi.

"You're not that much older than me," Jaq protested.  "You just act all grown up because of your training."

"True," Perten agreed.  "Sometimes I feel like I've lost out on my childhood."  He flicked a seed back at Jaq, and they laughed at each other.  "But being around you makes up for it."  He leaned back against the boxes, and Jaq snuggled up to him.  "Stop that," he said mildly.

"I know, I know.  You're not allowed to do anything fun, and you don't like me that way."

Perten looked away, and tried to carefully disentangle himself from Jaq's embrace.  "I never said that," he muttered, and pulled himself back to his feet.  He carefully dusted himself off, trying not to look like he was hiding anything.

"What?  Oh, wow," Jaq grinned.  "You do like me!"  He slid his hand along Perten's thigh, tracing the outline of the hardness there.

"Jaq, stop it."  He pulled the skilled hands away from his body, and blushed slightly as he realized how closely he was holding the beautiful young prostitute.  "I mean it."

"You don't sound like you mean it," smiled Jaq.  "Why is it wrong to please someone who likes you?"

"First of all, you're not old enough to be doing this," he began, but Jaq interrupted.

"Yes, I am!  I'm sixteen!  That's legal on most worlds."

"Legal doesn't make it right," Perten snapped.

"Illegal doesn't it make it wrong, either."

Perten had no answer for that, and looked away.

"I thought you didn't like me," said Jaq softly.  "That you were just sorry for me.  But you do like me, and that makes it so much nicer.  So why can't I do something for you?  It's all I have."  He moved closer to Perten, and when the Jedi didn't force him away again, put his arms around Perten's neck.  "If it wasn't for your Master, you could just take me away from all this, and we could be together forever," he said innocently, sweetly, not realizing just how tempting his words were to a Padawan who was already growing weary of a Master's restraint and caution.  His soft lips touched Perten's cheek.  "You're strong," he whispered against the Jedi's skin, "and brave, and handsome.  Everything that Thevi isn't."

"Jaq," he said warningly.  Jaq had tried this before.  His hatred for the Twi'lek was rather disconcerting, and Perten tried not to indulge his outbursts.

"You could kill him," Jaq breathed softly, "and take me away."

"That's not the Jedi way," said Perten wearily.  He reached up, to pull Jaq's clinging hands from his neck.

"Wait."  Jaq moved closer to him, kissing his neck, whispering softly in his ear.  "I know it's not the Jedi way.  I'm not asking a Jedi, Perten, I'm asking you.  A man.  Because he isn't a Jedi either," he said, speaking quickly and softly, so that only Perten could hear him, words spilling over each other as he tried to warn him.  "Don't move, don’t get angry.  They can see you.  He's a Sith, Perten, and he's going to kill you, to try and get to your Master.  They're going to kill you, or take you away and torture you.  Unless… unless you…."  He paused, pressing his body against Perten, trying to convey the suggestion he didn't want to whisper, pressed his lips against Perten's neck, promising without words.

Perten stared at him in shock, not sure what to say, and backed away from Jaq, who was still watching him, hopefully.

"Well, I think we've had enough of that," said the Twi'lek cheerfully.  He stepped out of the shadows, and activated his lightsaber.  "Well done, Jaq."

Jaq stepped out of the way, still watching Perten's eyes as the young Jedi drew his lightsaber.

"Wait, what?"  The Twi'lek glared at him, and Perten suddenly realized that Jaq was supposed to have taken the blade away.  "You double-crossing little slut!"  The Twi'lek reached out with the Force, and flung Jaq across the room.  "That'll teach me to leave you alone with anyone who has a cock for more than ten minutes.  You'll pay for this, you little brat!"

Jaq stumbled, and landed heavily.  Enraged, Perten charged the Twi'lek.  Their skill was evenly matched, Perten's speed offset by the Twi'lek's experience.

The blades clashed, locked against each other.  Guardian's blue against Sith red.  "Fool," snarled the Twi'lek.  "Do you really think you can defeat me?  Master your own dark desires?  I'll send your mewling corpse to your master in pieces!"  He used the Force to seize the young Jedi, lifted him into the air, choking him mercilessly.  "You know nothing of the true power of the Dark Side!"

Suddenly, the Twi'lek's body arched back, and he collapsed to the floor, his limbs twitching.

"And you," said Jaq softly, in a voice so dark and hate-filled that it was barely recognizable, "know nothing about me."

Perten fell to the floor, pain still coursing through his body from the Dark Jedi's attack.  He pulled himself to his knees, and watched in horror as Jaq straddled the Twi'lek's chest, a pair of blood-covered knives in his hands.

Jaq leaned over the Twi'lek, held the man's eyes with his own.  "You forgot about me, didn't you?  You forget a lot of things, Thevi.  Like you've forgotten all the times you found me trying to hide in my room.  You don't remember that, do you?  I do."  The Twi'lek screamed in agony, and Perten realized that Jaq had driven a knife into one of the Twi'lek's brain tails, and was twisting it, sending waves of pain through the sensitive organs.

Perten knew he should tell him to stop, but something held him silent.  He watched in horrified fascination as Jaq went on.

"Do you remember me asking you to stop, Thevi?  Do you remember laughing at me because I said you were too big?  No?"  Each question was punctuated with another scream as Jaq continued mutilating the Twi'lek's brain tails.  "Do you remember the look on my face when you volunteered to be my handler?"

"You won't get away with this," the Twi'lek shrieked.  "Revan will punish you for this!"

Jaq looked at him in surprise.  "Revan?  Don't you remember pleading with me not to tell her about those secret letters you had locked away in your room?  Oh, wait, that's right, that never happened because you didn't catch me that time."  He cocked his head and looked curiously at his victim.  "Oh, I guess that means you don't remember me overhearing," he said viciously.  "You don't remember me listening to you talk about how much you were looking forward to the day when you could get rid of me."

"Jaq, don't do this," said Perten slowly.

Jaq stood, lean and graceful and dangerous, and his foot shot out, catching the young Jedi on the side of the jaw.  "Oh, no you fucking don't," Jaq snarled.  He grabbed Perten by the hair, and struck him across the face, a blow so brutal it made the young Jedi's head ring.  "Sith or no Sith, Jedi or no Jedi, I saved your ass, and don't you forget it!"  He threw Perten down, near the boxes where they had been cuddling only a few minutes ago.  "Your place is at my feet, licking my boots!  You don't get to give me orders!"

Jaq walked over to collect the lightsabers from where they had fallen.  "I think I'll keep these as trophies," he smiled.

The Twi'lek tried to move, but his body was totally crippled.  He couldn't do anything but move his eyes and speak.  "Damn you," he hissed as Jaq picked up the remains of the meal.  "You monster.  I never should have trusted you.  What are you planning to do?"

Jaq smiled, and tossed the garbage in a little line leading from the Twi'lek's helpless body to one of the damaged sewer grates.  "Nothing.  I'm going to walk away from here, and do nothing, Thevi.  Think they'll find anything tomorrow morning?"  The grate rattled slightly as the vermin below caught the scent of the food.  Jaq pulled Perten to his feet, and dragged him out of the warehouse, to where Revan's guards were waiting.

Perten heard the first scream, and couldn't help thinking that the man had deserved his end.

 

"What the – is that Jaq?" asked Malak in surprise as he paused in front on the torture chambers.  He cocked his head curiously as he watched Jaq slowly lick blood away from his hands, a bound and bleeding Jedi kneeling on the floor before him.

"Yes, my Lord.  Lord Revan has given him permission to break the Jedi he captured."

"I see," said Malak slowly.  "You are recording this, yes?" He watched in fascination as Jaq tilted the young Jedi's head up, slowly running his hands down the side of the man's bruised face.

"Yes, my Lord.  All torture sessions are recorded for later review."

"Isn't he so cute?" said Revan softly as he drew another scream of pain from the young Jedi.  She wasn't wearing the mask, she was dressed as an Empress, sparkling with precious stones and glittering with gold jewelry over a simple white dress.  Her hair was loose, and fell down her back in shimmering golden curls.  "I think it's so adorable to see a bottom act like a top."

Malak flushed slightly at her words, and looked away from where Jaq was leaning over the collapsed Jedi, holding a small, sharp knife in his hand.

"Did you want a copy of the recording sent to your personal databank?  Something to help pass the time on your long, lonely journeys?"

Malak stiffened, trying to hold back an outburst.  "All torture sessions, Revan?  You record them all?"

"I like to watch," she said slyly, and took Malak's arm in hers.  "I like to see my teachings in action."

"Manipulative bitch," he snarled quietly, so that the guard couldn't hear him.  But he didn't pull away, and didn't react as Revan rested her head on his arm, moved closer, caressing him.

"Unfaithful bastard," she whispered in reply, and laughed cruelly.  The Jedi screamed again, and Revan looked curiously at Jaq and his new toy.  "I can't tell if he's suffering, or whether he actually enjoys it."

"The Jedi is enjoying it," said Malak shortly.  "He just hasn't figured it out yet."

Revan looked up at him, curiously.  "I meant Jaq."

Involuntarily, he pulled her closer as the young Jedi collapsed to the floor, panting for breath.  Jaq sank to his knees on top of him, straddling the Jedi's body.  He leaned down, bracing himself on his arms over his victim so that they were face to face, Jaq whispering a question softly over and over.  His hands were unbound now, and the Jedi writhed in pain, torn between trying to pull away, or taking what was offered to him.  Jaq whispered again, his dark hair gently brushing the Jedi's face.  His eyes were closed, and he was breathing swiftly and unsteadily, agony and hunger apparent in his handsome face, beneath the blood and the bruises.

Jaq hadn't looked away from his work, but the Jedi must have sensed them watching, and opened his eyes.  Malak wasn't sure what the young man saw.  A man and a woman?  Two Sith Lords?  He closed his eyes again, and turned away from them, still panting.

Jaq brought one hand up to his victim's lips, trailing his slender fingers slowly along the outer edge of one ear, then along his jawline, then tracing the outline of his lips before he whispered his question again.  He opened his eyes, and Jaq saw his answer.

He smiled slowly, triumphantly, and let Perten kiss his fingers for a few moments before he bent his head down to wipe away Perten's suffering with a kiss.

Perten was no longer a Jedi.


	7. The Service

A groan of satisfied pleasure.  Malak.  "Come here."  A kiss.  A soft laugh, a caress.  "I always feel so guilty for asking you to do that."

"What?"   Surprised.  Jaq.  "Why?  You like it."

"Indeed, I do."  Amused.  "And you're very good at it.  But you hate doing it."

"No, I don't!"  Protesting, uncertain.  "Why would you think that?"

Gentle.  "I can see it in your face.  It makes you uncomfortable."  Kissing.  "Don't worry about it.  You worry too much.  Sit down, here."  Petting the bed.  Perhaps Jaq as well.

"Okay."  Uncertain.  "What are you doing?"  A rustling of cloth.  Silk.  The sound of silk on skin.

"What gets you off, little one?"  Warm.  Seductive.  "I've always wondered."

"What are you doing?"  Shocked.  "Wait, no, you're not supposed to – you're not – " A gasp, surprised, aroused.

Chuckling.  "Well, you like kissing so much…."  A surprised cry, passionate.  "Oh, you do like that, don't you?"

An incoherent answer, surprised, astounded.  "But you – you're – ah!"

An amused chuckle.  Reveling in his power, his skill.  Jaq's cries rise in volume, speed, frequency as Malak's tongue works over him.  A short scream.  Gasping.  Panting for breath.

Malak laughs again, triumphant, pleased.  "See the difference, little one?  I am thoroughly enjoying myself."  Smug.

Soft laughter.  Still too dazed to speak.

The silk shifts.  "Lie down."

"What?"

"I'm not finished."

"But – what are you – "  Silk on skin, sliding.  "What – "

"Relax, little one."  A kiss.  A soft, wet noise.  Jaq gasps.  "No one has ever done this with you before?"  Curious.

"Oh – you can't – not – that – oh – "  Complete and utter shock.  Disbelief.  Unmistakably aroused.

Mocking.  Not truly expecting an answer.  "Or is it just because it's your Lord doing it that has you so worked up?"

Words fail, and Jaq is reduced to wild, lust-filled cries, different from the ones he usually makes.  More intense than any he has ever made before.

"I had no idea you were so noisy, little one."  Unmistakably pleased.  Aroused himself now by the abandoned tenor of his young lover's passionate screams.  By the sounds, Malak has added his fingers to the work of his tongue.  Another soft caress, moist and lustful.  Jaq shrieks wildly, completely out of control.  Malak laughs, triumphant again.  "I think I finally found an 'off' switch for you.  Jaq?"  Laughter.  "You're totally out, aren't you?  Pity."  Malak sighs.  "It would be a shame to waste it, though.  You'll forgive me, won't you little one?  Actually, you'd probably be furious if I didn't."


	8. The Sacrifice

He ran into the room, seeking her embrace.  He was too scared to scream, all he could do was whisper that he was sorry over and over again.  He hadn't meant to do it.  She would be angry.  He had promised her that he would never do it again.  He was only twelve, only a child, small for his age, just as he had always been.

She was there, and he thought his heart would burst from the fear.  What if she was so angry that she wouldn't help?  What if she left him alone to face them?  What would he do then?

The woman turned at the noise, a half-smile on her face.  Mothers of small boys know that indulgent smile.  A question was on her lips – had he found something new to show her?  Or had he broken something in another one of his boyish freaks?  "Jaq!" she rushed to him, as soon as she saw the look on his face.  "Oh, darling, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering, over and over again, trembling helplessly in her arms.

She kissed his dark hair, drew his sweet little face up to hers, her long, elegant fingers gently stroking his face.  "It's all right, darling," she said softly.  Her voice, like everything else about her, was beautiful.  Her eyes were wide, dark and luminous, fringed with absurdly long lashes; her long hair fell in dark ringlets around her face.  Her skin was pale and soft, like the petals of a flower.  It was too early for her to have styled her beautiful hair, and her remarkably beautiful features were unenhanced by any cosmetics.  She had passed her peculiar brand of dark beauty to her son, and he was growing to be just as dangerously beautiful.  In almost all ways, he was his mother's son.  There was only one thing that he had taken from his father.  She kissed him sweetly, soothing his fears.  "You know I love you, darling.  I won't be angry," she whispered softly.  "Tell me what's wrong, darling."

The pet name grounded him, slowed the racing of his heart.  He nervously put his arms around her, and she cradled his little head against her heart.  He tried to stammer out what he had done, and why, but the words wouldn't come out in a way that made sense.  She kissed him on the top of his head, and was going to ask him to start again, when the door of her boudoir burst open again.

"There you are!" her husband roared.

She looked up, angry and surprised at his intrusion.  What was he thinking, to be so brutal at a time like this?  He knew how sensitive the boy was.  She kissed her son on the forehead, to keep him calm, then froze in shock as she saw the forms behind her husband.  Their brown robes fell gracefully, and they politely waited outside the room.  Her beautiful face grew cold and set, and she drew Jaq even closer to her.

"Not this time, Aia!  No more!" he shouted, furious and ashamed.  "The little monster is going with them, and that's final.  Not again, do you understand?"

Suddenly, she understood what her son had been trying to tell her, or at least part of it.  He had been afraid, and he had lashed out.  Again.  She kept her arms protectively around Jaq, who was sobbing helplessly again, unable to speak in his emotional turmoil.  She was his mother, and all she could hear was his little voice trying to explain that he had been scared, so scared that he had disobeyed her.  Why?  What had frightened him so badly?

"Aia, don’t do this.  Don't you understand how dangerous he is?  This can't go on," he pleaded, and moved closer, trying to make her see sense.

"What did you do to my son?" she demanded quietly.  Not to him.  To the Jedi behind him.

It was a misunderstanding, they said.  Their companion had upset him.

She looked down at her son, and shook her head.  "This isn't fear.  Someone hurt him."  She looked from the Jedi to her husband.  "They're lying, Tal.  You can't seriously expect me to hand him over, not like this."

"By the Celestials, woman, what does it take?  How many people does he have to kill before you'll believe it?"

"I'm sorry," he whimpered softly, so softly she could barely hear the noise.  But in her heart, all she could hear was the echo of the terror in her son's voice.

"Get out.  And take them with you."

The Jedi stepped forward.  This couldn't be, they explained.  The boy had to be taken away, for his own safety.  He would be safe with them, they said gently.

"No!" he screamed, as his father tried to wrest him from his mother's arms.  "I'm not going with them," he shrieked suddenly.  Everything seemed to stand still for just a moment, then the room exploded.  His father was flung backwards, slammed into the wall near the door.  One of the Jedi arched back, screaming in mind-numbing pain, wrapped in a ball of purple lightning.  The other Jedi had been caught completely off-guard, thrown backwards by the blast and had been broken in half by the impact against the bannister.  Her body flopped comically, hanging there like an unloved rag doll.

Only his mother was unharmed.  She blinked in surprise at the devastation, and knelt to take her child in her arms again.  "Jaq, darling, of course you're not going with them," she said sweetly, reassuringly.  "Now let the horrible man go, darling, and your father will take him away."  For a moment, she thought her voice hadn't reached him, but then the Jedi dropped to the floor, gasping in agonizing pain, and Jaq rushed into her arms.  "Oh, darling," she whispered softly, and kissed his face, "you shouldn't do such things.  You have to learn to control yourself."  She stroked his hair, and held him close.  He was so young.  So small.

There was the distinctive sound of a lightsaber activating, and she looked up in shock.  Staggering, but still able to fight, her husband had taken the lightsaber from the Jedi on the floor.

"Are you completely insane?" she asked sharply.  "What do you think you're doing?"

"Something I should have done years ago," he snarled.  "You don't think I'm going to let that little monster live, do you?  After this?"

Her dark eyes were cold as she stared at him, trying to force him to back down.  "Do you not have a mirror in your rooms, Tal?  Where do you think he got it from?"

He shook his head.  "No more," he said resolutely.  "This isn't going to happen again."

She shook her head, and kept her arms around her son.  "Tal, take your friend to get medical attention before he dies.  I'm not going to let you hurt Jaq."  She felt the little boy in her arms stiffen, and looked down at him.  "Tal?  What are you doing?  Stop it!"  Horror gripped her as she realized he wasn't breathing.  "Jaq!  Darling!  Don't let go, fight it!" she screamed, trying to figure out how to save her beloved son from whatever her husband was doing.  "Oh, darling, come back to me," she begged.

Her husband staggered back, and Jaq gasped for air.  He clutched at his mother, trying to hide from all the horrible things that were happening.  All he knew was that she had saved him, again, just as she always did.

"Dammit, Aia," her husband raged.  "What does it take?  How can I make you see?"

She glared at him, her arms still protectively around her son.  She was about to speak, but she felt the touch of darkness that she knew was a precursor of something terrible.  She looked down at Jaq, and for a moment thought that someone had stolen her precious child and replaced him with a soulless toy.  "Jaq?"  She shook him gently.  "Jaq!" she gasped in horror, as she saw his eyes.  "Stop it, stop it right now!"

Her husband gasped, and raised the lightsaber in his hand.  "No!" he roared, and moved to strike.

It only took her a moment to realize what was going to happen.  Like her son would be in years to come, she was blindingly fast.  She stood swiftly, interposing her body between her son and her husband.  In their own way, they each loved her more than anything else.  They both hesitated, but it was too late, as she had foreseen.

The bolt of dark energy struck her at the same time as the lightsaber, and the beautiful woman fell to the ground with a short scream, her spine severed by the blow, and her body wracked with pain.

"Aia!"

"Mother!"

In the dimness of pain, she could barely tell the voices apart.  Both lost little boys, who could barely understand how much love could ask of someone.  She forced her eyes to open, and looked at Jaq.  She saw with satisfaction that she had saved her son, and that was enough for now.


	9. The Separation

Jaq stood, silently, and watched his father kneel by his mother.  He wasn't crying, just staring, and Jaq wondered why he had never looked at her like that before.  He looked like he actually cared that she was hurt.

"Tal," coughed the Jedi on the floor.  "Help me up.  I can still save her."

He watched his father run over to the dying Jedi.  He watched the Jedi do something that made the air seem lighter around her, and his mother's eyes fluttered open again as she took a deep breath.

"Where – " she said softly, trying to move her head.  "Where is he?"  She couldn't turn her head enough to see where he was standing, and his father refused to let her talk.  Medics rushed in, and bundled her away, and his father ran off with her, still clinging to her hand.

Jaq watched curiously.  He'd never seen his father act like that before, and he didn't understand why he was doing it now, after he had hit her.

The Jedi was carried out, and the other body taken away, and Jaq realized that no one had noticed him at all.  He sat down on his mother's bed, and tried to think.  He pulled a pair of scissors from her drawer, and experimentally poked himself with the tip, then drew the blade across the inside of his arm.  He stared at the blood in confusion.  He could feel it, so he was alive.  Not a ghost.  He made another little cut on his arm, then started tracing the outline of the bruises there.  He glanced at the scissor.  It was stained with blood.  He looked back at his arm, and watched the thin trickles of blood fall to the floor.  He was probably still real.  He set the scissor down, and looked around again.

He picked up one of her mirrors, and looked carefully at himself.  Maybe, he thought, if he took off his face, there would be another one underneath.  One that didn't make terrible things happen.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the stripe of yellow piping that now decorated all of his clothing.  It was supposed to mean he was a hero.  But if he hadn’t been a hero, then none of this would have happened.  The Jedi would never have come here.  If he didn't have the face that he had, if he hadn't been so brave that one time, if his father hadn't been who he was, none of this would have happened.  He carefully set her mirror down on the bedside table and stared at the wall.

He could hear servants moving in the room, cleaning up the wreckage.  But no one spoke to him.  No one came rushing over to tend to his wounded arm, or to stare at the bruises on his arms and ask him what had happened.

What was he supposed to do now?  What could he do now?

He looked out the window, towards the spaceport.  Revan was defying the Jedi.  Maybe he could go and pretend to be a hero.  He could fight, with Revan and his army, against the Mandalorians.  He pulled down his sleeve, and tried to wipe away the traces of blood, but gave up.  He was going to fight, after all.  What did a few bloodstains matter?

 

"There is a person here to see you, my lady," sniffed the majordomo.

Revan smiled to herself.  The man obviously wasn't impressed by the small woman in a scruffy soldier's outfit.  Obviously, her disguise was working.  She brushed past him, and walked into the boudoir without waiting for a response.  Ready for a confrontation, she walked over to the woman sitting by the window, but stopped in surprise.  There were very few times in her life when she had been mistaken about people.  It was a shock to realize that this was one of them.

"My lady - "  The majordomo rushed in, but the woman, beautiful, dark, imperious, held up a graceful hand.

"It's all right," she smiled sweetly, and waved her majordomo away.  "The young lady must have an important message.  Please, have a seat," she gestured gracefully to a chair near where she sat, her body unnaturally stiff and her legs unnaturally still.  With an angry growl, the majordomo left the room, closing the door behind him.  "You will forgive me for not rising," her smile was dazzling and seductive and kind, all at once.

Revan sat down, and tried to recover her sense of balance.  "I apologize for staring," she said quickly, "it's just that I always assumed Jaq took after his father."

The woman's face paled, and Revan realized that she had been much more wrong than she knew.  "Jaq?  Where - where did you meet my son?  Is he - is he alive?"

"You didn't know?" asked Revan curiously.  "He's with us - with Revan's army."  She held out her hand in belated greeting.  "My name is Annye, by the way.  I'm one of his instructors."

The woman took her hand, and shook it gently.  She was trembling.  "He's - alive?"

Revan nodded.  "He's fine.  I, er, I really misjudged you, I'm afraid.  He never speaks of his home, you see, and well, I always thought - "  Revan shook her head, and let the sentence fade away.

"Oh," she gasped, holding her hands to her breast.  "What must you have thought?  You probably aren't too far off," she said with a slight sob.  "I am a terrible mother."  The bitterness in her voice was painful to hear.  "I didn't go after him, and I can never bring him home again."

"But you do love your son," said Revan slowly.

The woman closed her eyes, looking more like Jaq than she had ever believed possible, and nodded slowly as she fought for self-control.

Revan held out a datapad.  "Here.  It's his educational reports for the last four years."

The woman grabbed the datapad, a loving hunger in her eyes that it hurt Revan to see.  She started scanning the reports eagerly, devouring the words of his tutors, smiling proudly at the reports of his stellar performance.

"Why are you in a chair?" asked Revan curiously.  She suddenly wanted to know everything about this dark and beautiful woman.

"I was hit with a lightsaber."  She brushed aside a curl, and answered without looking up.  "Not even kolto can heal what is no longer there.  By the time the damaged parts regenerate, I'll be long dead," she smiled wryly.  "You're A.  K., yes?  You're a very demanding instructor."

"He works best when pushed to his limits," Revan answered calmly.  "But he doesn't deal well with constant pressure."  She pulled another datapad out of her bag, and tried to find a decent picture.  "Why do I have so many shots of mud?"

"Mud?"

"Onderon," Revan showed her the picture, a group of young pilots half-covered in sludge from the thick forest, posing in front of the Royal Palace.

"He was at Onderon?" she gasped, remembering the stories of the massacres there.  "Oh, he looks so small," she said sweetly, completely distracted by the picture.

Revan wondered if all mothers could do this, if all mothers would be able to recognize a child they hadn't seen for four Standard years, even when he was covered in thick, greenish-black mud.  Revan let her take the datapad.  "I have some other pictures on there, too.  Somewhere in there is one of him in uniform."

She looked up, her dark eyes lovely and hopeful.  "May I - keep this?"

"They're for you," said Revan.

"Thank you," she breathed softly.

"Don't.  Don't be grateful.  I meant for it to hurt you," said Revan, unexpectedly disappointed in herself.  "I didn't know."

"You couldn't have," she said gently.  "But I am grateful, nevertheless.  You can't imagine what it means to me, to have some part of my son again, no matter how small."

Revan couldn't take it anymore, and shot to her feet.  "Yes, I can," she snarled.  She shouldered her bag and charged out of the room, uncaring of how rude she seemed, or how confused the woman was.  Tears of anger were blinding her, tears of hurt and loss.  Was this motherhood, then?  This horrid, wistful softness?  That note of gentleness that seemed to pervade every aspect of her being?  If that was motherhood, Revan tried to tell herself, then she was better off without it.  She made it to a park across the street before she collapsed, curling herself into a ball and sobbing tears of jealous rage.

 

"I think I'll melt Revan's brain." Jaq broke away from Perten before he could speak, and ran over to the tiny garden in the center of the courtyard.  He tried to reach through the bars, and gave up, instead climbing over the fence that was supposed to keep people away from the precious flowers.

"What are you doing?" smiled Perten.

Jaq knelt down, and carefully selected a few flowers.  "You'll see," he grinned.  "Help me," he commanded, and Perten lifted him down from the wall.  He leaned against Perten, and carefully arranged the stolen flowers into a colorful bouquet.  "Why are your eyes yellow?" he asked suddenly.

Perten looked at him in surprise.  "I'm a Sith.  That's what happens."

Jaq looked up at him, his face unreadable.  "Malak's eyes never change.  They're always grey, and he's a Sith."

Perten shrugged.  "I don't know."

Jaq stood, his little posy complete.  "It's not like he's less powerful.  He's much more powerful than you.  And handsome, too," he smiled wickedly.  "I was just wondering why his eyes don't change.  Come on, Revan should be in her office now."  He pulled Perten behind him, leading the way to the temporary headquarters that the Sith had set up on this planet, not giving him a chance to respond.

When they entered the building, Perten took the lead, shouldering other Dark Jedi and Sith officers out of the way, so that no one would touch Jaq.

"Hey, watch it," grumbled an officer.

"He's doing you a favor," one of the Dark Jedi pointed out.

The officer looked, and saw Jaq standing behind Perten.  "Oh, sorry, I, er, I'm going over here," he said, beating a fast retreat before Jaq decided to acknowledge his existence.

Perten laughed with amusement, and opened the door so that Jaq could enter the large room where Revan was effectively holding court.

Jaq sauntered in, his hands behind his back, hiding the little posy.  He peeked over the shoulders of some of the clerks, and without seeming to notice her, worked his way through the room until he was at Revan's side.  "Oh!  You're back!" he said joyfully.  "I missed you!"  He kissed her on the cheek, and pretended not to notice that she jumped in surprise.

"I don't have time to play with you," Revan snapped.  "Perten has lessons and you have work to do.  Go do it."

"Oh, okay," said Jaq innocently.  "Here, I'll just put these on your desk.  Oh, the vase is gone," he mused.

Revan looked up from the report she was holding, unable to tear her eyes away from the lovely bouquet of stolen flowers.  One of the officers in the room raced up with a vase to replace the one she had shattered earlier, already half-filled with water for her flowers.  She heard a sigh of relief from somewhere in the room, someone pleased to think that her spate of bad temper would be assuaged by the gift.

"Oh, thank you," said Jaq sweetly.  He carefully arranged the flowers, then leaned back to survey his work.  He smiled at her, "Okay, I'll leave now."

"Well, what did you come in for, anyway," she said grumpily, trying not to give in.  Revan sat down at her desk, and Jaq knelt on the floor at her feet, resting his head on her knee.

"Well," he started, and told her some of the things he had been doing while she had been gone, random gossip about some of the officers, the latest news from the Republic.  His hands were folded over her lap, and his dark eyes shone with happiness as he talked to her, acting as if she was the only person in the room - the world, for that matter.

The report lay on her desk untouched, and Revan realized that she was running her hands through his dark hair while she listened to his idle chatter.  Revan sighed, and bent down to kiss his forehead.  She knew perfectly well that he was doing it on purpose, that he was seducing her for his own amusement, playing on her innermost needs and desires.  He kissed her cheek again, his lips soft and sweet.

"Don't you have work to do?" sighed Revan, trying to be irritated with him, but unable to resist playing with his soft hair.

"Well, you're taking Perten away," he pouted.  "Can I borrow HK then?"

"HK is an assassin droid, not a child's plaything," she said sharply.

"But I'm a child assassin," he smiled, "so he can be my droid plaything!"

Revan laughed in delight at his cleverness, and bent down to kiss him again.  "Fine, fine."  She sent an update to her creation's programming, giving Jaq permission to command the droid.  "Now, shoo, go do your work, child."

He laughed, and kissed her hands, one after the other, before he ran off.  Revan sighed softly, and watched him leave the room, then smiled gently at her flowers.  Suddenly, she blushed as realized that she wasn't wearing the mask, and everyone could see her pretending to be a loving and indulgent mother.  "Don't think the rest of you are off the hook," she snapped.  "Get back to work!"


	10. The First Attempt on Revan's Life

What is love?  He watched Revan work, smoothly controlling the flow of information in the room.  Commanding, ordering, directing.  She ruled well and wisely, but brooked no interference in her empire.  All she demanded was obedience.

"The messengers are here, Lord Revan."  The officer bowed low, and Revan rose, to walk to the main audience chamber.  He watched her leave, her beauty concealed behind the mask, her robes swirling gracefully around her as she moved.  He frowned as the officer nodded to another man in the room, who also rose to follow her out of the room.  He glanced quickly around the room, noted that HK was still on assignment.  Malak was recruiting.  Revan's lightsabers lay on the workbench, the cases open and the components laid out neatly.  Not that she needed lightsabers to defend herself, he thought to himself.  No one else seemed to think it was odd, but then… no one else cared about Revan the way he did.

Knowing full well that no one would notice him, he slipped out of the room and raced quickly down the hallway, following Revan and the two officers.  He saw two others walk up to her, saw them move properly out of the way, saw her brush past them, accepting their deference as her natural right, and feared that he would be too late.

Revan stumbled as someone struck her, knocking her down and out of the way.  She looked up in surprise, and saw the flash of blades over her, sweeping through the air where she had been standing.  She felt something soft and warm roll away from her, and saw one of the attackers draw back with an angry snarl, his poisoned blade stained red with blood.  Not hers.  She looked at the crumpled form lying on the floor next to her, and stood up, unsure if she was giving voice to her fury, or whether the noise that she heard was only in her mind.

The four men, officers in her army.  Traitors.  She moved her hands, channeling her awful rage and bending the Force to her will.  The traitors were suspended in the air around her, shaking in terror, screaming in pain.  Surprised at their failure, horrified by her fury.

"Are you alone?" she demanded.

They refused to speak.  She ripped the truth from their minds.  She didn't have time to torture them.  Revan snarled, and knew that the sound was real.  Their screams filled the hallway, but their agonizing deaths barely served to assuage her terrible anger.  She snuffed out the flame of their lives, severing them completely from the Force, then tossed the bodies aside.

She pulled off the mask, and knelt down beside him.  He was wounded, but not beyond her power to save.  She healed him, using powers that she had neglected for so long that she sometimes wondered if they were still there.  But the skills she had first learned were still there, and he coughed slightly, spitting out blood as his body healed itself at her touch.

She gently wiped away the blood, tenderly brushed his hair back into place.  He blinked up at her in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time.  Revan smiled down at him, and kissed his forehead again.  She had seen the plot in their minds.  The Jedi Council had arranged this, using the skills of one barely trained young Padawan to hold all the threads of the Force in place so that she wouldn't see them coming.  She sighed as she looked down at Jaq, and he snuggled happily into her arms.  That they had tried told her that the Padawan's training was almost complete.  That they had almost succeeded told her that the Padawan was more dangerous than she realized.  That they had failed told her that she was going to have to make a choice soon.

She kissed Jaq again, then again, then gave in and covered his sweet face with kisses before she pulled him into her arms, trembling with barely controlled emotion.  "Oh, you foolish child," she whispered softly, as he kissed her back, trying to pet and soothe her, "you foolish, darling child."


	11. The Show

"You're a slut," Perten growled, and slammed into the soft body beneath him again.

Jaq gasped, half in pain, half in ecstasy, but didn't deny the accusation.

"Slut," Perten repeated, and hissed at the response of Jaq's body, the heat, the clenching tightness.  "Do you fuck Malak just to make me jealous?  Or do you actually like him?"

"No talking," gasped Jaq, then gave a short shriek as Perten thrust into him again.  He was on his hands and knees, Perten kneeling behind him, the young Sith's hands firmly on his hips.  Jaq was going to have bruises in the morning, and a delicious soreness.

Perten growled savagely, and thrust wildly into Jaq, savoring the erotic screams of half-pain.  He could feel Jaq stiffen, felt the rhythmic pulses of an orgasm, and let himself go, flooding the soft warmth of Jaq's body with his own fluids.  He sank back, letting his hands slide away from Jaq's hips, and Jaq sank limply to the bed.  "You liked that," he said flatly.  "You like making me angry."

Jaq rolled over lazily, and looked up at his lover.  "You enjoy it when I hurt you," he smiled, his sweet, wicked smile.  "You like the sensation.  You like to feel things."  He reached for Perten's hand, and drew him down for a fierce, lustful kiss.  "After all those years of denying yourself everything, you love it."

"I should kill you for what you've done to me," said Perten shakily.  The intensity of Jaq's caress was making the world spin around him, and despite the fact that he had just finished satisfying himself moments ago, he could feel his arousal growing again.

Jaq laughed, sweet and dark.  "You'll never kill me."  He kissed Perten again, and slid his body beneath Perten, his legs spread wide for Perten to enter him again.  "Never.  Because no one else can make you feel the way I do."

With a savage groan, despairing and passionate, he entered Jaq again, infuriated by his mocking laughter, aroused beyond control by the willing softness of his body.

Jaq laughed in pleasure, shifted himself so that he could whisper in Perten's ear.  "I fuck Malak because he's twice as big as you," said Jaq sweetly.  "He fucks like a dream."  He screamed as Perten slammed into him, jealous and angry, then laughed, arching himself into the thrusts.

"You weren't wet when we started," whispered Perten.  "Why not?"

"Something different," gasped Jaq, then moaned as Perten ground his hips against Jaq.  "He wanted - to touch - that's all," his words were broken by cries of passion.

Perten held Jaq still, and let himself come, making Jaq cry out softly before he collapsed to the bed again.  Perten lay down, and pulled Jaq into his arms, slid his hand between Jaq's legs.  Jaq was limp and sticky and warm, Perten's juices mingling wetly with his own.

Jaq put his arms around Perten, and rested his head on his lover's chest.

"Touch?" said Perten softly, questioning.  His hands were still resting on Jaq's hips, gently caressing.

"Get your hand away from me," said Jaq in that quiet, dark voice that Perten knew better than to disobey.

Perten moved his hand away, then smiled ruefully, and put both hands behind his head.  "Is that better?"

"Much."  Pleased, Jaq reached up, and gave him a warm, possessive kiss.  "You are not Malak," he whispered fiercely.  "You do not do what he does, and I like it that way."  Jaq laughed, a soft whisper of a laugh, and kissed Perten again.  "Go to sleep.  I set the alarm already."

"Yes," said Perten dryly, "Celestials forbid we miss an episode."

Jaq's laugh turned into something approaching a giggle, making Perten laugh, and the two of them – little more than teenage boys, despite all that they had done, all that they had been through – fell asleep with the ringing of each other's laughs echoing in their ears.

 

"Why is this stupid show on?" demanded a Dark Jedi.  Everyone in the lounge shushed him, and someone pointed to Jaq, lying on the couch with his head pillowed in Perten's lap, as an answer to his question.  The Dark Jedi growled in anger.  "Turn this garbage off."

Perten looked curiously at the speaker, but Jaq continued to watch the screen, completely engrossed in the romantic drama that was unfolding.  He vaguely recognized the Human man, a Jedi who had chosen to follow Revan and Malak.  His name was Sotr, or something like that.

Sotr snarled, and moved forward.  "Are you listening to me?"

Jaq sat upright in horror, still transfixed by the screen.  "Oh, no!  I think someone just shot Jaer!"  Jaq picked up his datapad, and went to the network page for the romantic serial that he was so addicted to.

"You're ignoring me?  How dare you!"  Sotr suddenly found his path to Jaq blocked by Perten, who looked bored, rather than angry.  "Out of my way, dog.  You aren't even worthy to be called a Sith.  Any slut could break the will of someone like you."

Perten snarled at him.  "I don't think you've ever met someone like me, fool."

Sotr reached for his lightsaber, and Jaq finally looked up.

"No, don't touch.  Perten is mine; I forbid you to touch him," he said imperiously.

"What?" Sotr was practically choking with rage.  "You don't get to give me orders, you ridiculous child!  I am a Dark Jedi!  I give the orders around here!"

Jaq laughed.  "I think you're a little confused, Sotr.  No one gives me orders except Revan and Malak.  I can do anything I want to you, or any of your other precious little Dark Jedi friends."  He made the title sound unbelievably insulting.  Jaq held out his arms, showing off the lithe beauty of his body, and the fact that he was unarmed.  "You want to try and take me, Sotr?"

Perten was watching carefully, waiting like a kath hound on a leash, and everyone else in the lounge was watching silently.

The Dark Jedi, furious, drew his lightsaber.  Everyone else in the lounge – even the droids – whipped out a weapon and aimed it at Sotr before he could turn it on.

Jaq laughed again.  "One of us is the living will of Revan.  It isn't you."  Jaq sauntered over to the bar counter, and sat down on it.  "Perten, kick his ass."

Obedient and willing, Perten charged, his lightsaber flashing.  Sotr barely had time to dodge the first swing and activate his own lightsaber.  The duel was short.  Perten had more experience now, to go with his natural skill, and a teacher who was unsurpassed.  Perten ended the fight by removing Sotr's hand, and Jaq cheered.  With a dark and awful smile, Perten reached out with the Force, raising Sotr into the air and choking him with the Force.

Jaq watched in fascination as Perten showed off his mastery of the same thing that had almost killed him.  "When did you learn that?" asked Jaq as Sotr fell, lifeless, to the ground.

Perten smiled.  "A little while ago.  I haven't had a chance to use it yet."  He sauntered over to Jaq.  "Did you like it?"

"I did," Jaq confessed, and pulled him closer.  "Thank you for killing him for me," whispered Jaq, and kissed Perten's lips, letting Perten come closer to him.  "Someday," whispered Jaq dreamily, "you'll be as powerful as Malak.  Will you still want me?"  There was a sharp crack, and Jaq looked down in surprise at the metal railing.  Perten had been holding onto it while kissing Jaq, and the railing had just snapped under his hands.  Jaq could hear Perten panting, and smiled in pleasure.  He put his arms around his lover, and kissed him again, ignoring all the people around him, ignoring everything except Perten's wild passion and his growing power.


	12. The Sin

There is nothing to see.  Just darkness, and sounds.  Kissing, passionate and hungry.

"You're so beautiful." Malak.  Admiring.  Lustful.

A joyous laugh.  A kiss.  Jaq.

"It makes it hard to let you go."

Reassuring.  "I'll come back.  I'm not going very far, anyway." Considering.  "Are you worrying about Perten?" Pleased, amused laugh.  "You know I'll come back." Dark, promising.  "You could beat me senseless, and I would still come crawling back to you."

A kiss.  A soft, gentle, kiss.  Slowly.  Carefully.  "What if I sent you away?"

Silence.

"Jaq?"

"You wouldn't do that." A nervous, broken laugh.  "You're just trying to scare me.  Don't do that." Quick breathing.  The sound of someone pulling away, then returning to rest.

Curious.  "What would you do?"

A pause.  A heartbeat long.  "I would kill you." Vicious.  Angry.  Lost.

"Jaq –"

"I would kill you."  The repetition loses none of its power.  "Don't think I'm lying about this." Angry.  Fearful.  Hurt.  "You made me love you.  You made me depend on you.  If you dare – dare to turn me away – me!  I will make you pay."  Near hysteria.

A struggle.  Kissing.  The struggle continues.  Muffled protests, evident conquest, ending in another soft, willing kiss.

"So beautiful."  Admiring again.  "Even when threatening a Sith Lord.  Foolish child." Amused.

"Kill me first.  Don't discard me."  Pleading.

"I won't, little one.  Stop.  Calm down."  Another gentle kiss.

"I'll give up Perten, if that's what you want."  Still terrified.  Still hurt.  Still barely in control of his emotions.

"It isn't, little one.  Calm down."  A tired sigh.  "I shouldn't have mentioned it, little one.  I'm sorry.  I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Malak –"  Desperate.

"Calm down, little one."  Commanding.  "I want you.  I love you.  I need you.  There?"  Another kiss, fierce and demanding.  "Are you happy now?"

"Yes."  Scared.  Sweet.  Shaken.  Grateful.

Another sigh, another kiss.

A wild, despairing cry from Jaq.  Sobbing.  "I don't understand what you want from me."  Desperate.  Angry.

"I know."  Weary.  "You're too young.  In more ways than just years."  Dry.

"I'll get older."  Hopeful.  "And in a few years, if I keep growing at the same rate, I'll reach your shoulder!" Cheerful, joking.  But there is a darkness in his voice that will not go away.  A fear.  Perhaps a tinge of madness.

The rustling of silk.  An indulgent laugh.  "Lie down, little one."  Soothing.  Masterful.

Jaq responds instantly.  Fear is replaced by desire.  "Ooh, is this an apology?"  Delighted laughter.  Calmed at last.  The sounds of clothes being shed.

Vastly amused laugh.  "As you will, little one.  I didn't mean to upset you, you know that, yes?"  Gently.

Silence.

"I would never abandon you, little one.  You need someone to watch over you.  I know that."  Soft, wet kisses.  "It's a job –" Jaq's moans are enticing, irresistible, arousing "– that any man would enjoy." Whimpers.  Wild screams.  "By the way, little one – I am going to fuck you senseless for daring to threaten me."  Amused.  Perhaps even a little pleased.

Jaq is beyond speech at this point, and Malak, from the sounds, keeps his words.  It is some time before Jaq's screams of passion finally fade away.  It is some time after that, that Malak reaches his own climax.

The door opens.  A new voice, soft and strangely familiar, speaks.  "Have you seen Jaq?  He missed his lessons."

"Lessons?  Oops."  Slightly guilty.  More amused.  Malak rises from the bed.

"Malak!  By the heavens, what have you been doing to him?"

A laugh.  Cruel.  "I'm not going to explain, Revan.  If you want to know, watch the recording."  Someone leaves - Malak, most likely - the door closes.


	13. The Salvation

The Sith guards threw the group of captured Jedi to the floor, and began checking them against a list.  A tall man, his powerful figure barely concealed by the folds of his dark cloak, knelt down next to one of the last Jedi in the line.  She was a Twi'lek woman, battered and bleeding, but still held herself proudly.

"Are you afraid of death?" he asked softly.

"I do not fear death, Sith.  I know that I will not be released before my time has come."

"Good." His hands moved at her restraints, and she gasped in surprise.  "Quiet," he hissed.  "I will set you free, but in exchange, you must deliver a message for me."

"A message?" she said, unbelieving.  "What message?  I am no traitor," she said sharply.

He leaned close to her, whispered something.  Her face changed as he spoke, and her eyes grew wide.  She stared at him in shock.

"The person you deliver it to won't believe you," he said softly.  "He might even kill you."

"Is it true?"

He nodded.

"Then I will go.  If I can save one person from such a fate, it will be worth it," she said firmly.

He handed her a datapad.  "You will find him here."

She looked at the picture and the information on the pad.  "He's just a child!" she said in shock.

"Go," he said firmly.  He stood, blocking the view of the guards as she slipped away.

"What – " one of the Interrogators finally noticed the movement, but the cloaked man raised a hand in warning, and pushed back the concealing hood as he turned back to face them.  "Lord Malak!" The Interrogator drew back in surprise.  "I had no idea you were here."

"I'm not," he said with a wry grin.  "You didn't see me, and this never happened.  Continue with your work."

"Of course, my Lord."

 

"Put him down, here."

Jaq heard the voice, but couldn't believe it.  The person who was carrying him set him down, and he could feel her warm hands on his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes.  Jaq was sick, very sick.  The kind of sickness that results in death when left untreated.  He felt himself being cradled against a familiar body, an impossible sensation.  She was dead.  And even if she wasn't dead, she couldn't be here, on this miserable moon, holding him over a tub, running warm water over his face, keeping him from dying.  She wouldn't have come back from the dead just to save him.  Not after what he had done.

"How much do you think he took?" The other person had a harsh voice, rumbling and deep.  If he didn't know better, Jaq would have said he sounded like a Mandalorian.

"Too much." Her voice was quietly disapproving, and it stung him to realize that even after all these years, it still hurt to know she was angry with him.  "He was probably drinking, as well.  Hand me the medkit."

The world faded for a bit.  Jaq felt the first touch of consciousness returning, realized that he was lying on a clean bed, his head pillowed again on a pair of soft and familiar breasts, a pair of strong yet slender arms around him.

"What are you doing?" The voice was the unknown man.

"Adding some more credits to his account.  I wouldn't want him to run out of money." The voice was impossible.  Small hands, not as soft as he remembered, played with his hair.  Soft lips, warm and possessive as they had always been, kissed his forehead.

"No, I meant the cuddling."

"He's so cute." She sounded guilty as she always did when pressed on her obsession.  She snuggled him again, kissed his cheek.  "Isn't he?"

"I wouldn't know, you won't let me touch him."

She laughed cheerfully.  "He's fragile," she explained.  "You might break him."

"I wouldn't do that!"

She kissed him again, held him tightly.  "I know, it's just...."  She sighed, and he tried to open his eyes, because he knew what she was going to say next.  "We should get going.  He'll be fine now." She stroked his hair again, then carefully stood up.  She bent down and neatly tucked him into the bed, arranging the pillows beneath his head, and he could smell the scent of violets that she always used.  Impossible.  She kissed him again, and he tried to reach up and pull her closer, to stop her from leaving, but his muscles wouldn't respond.  He had taken too much, was too weak, too far gone.  She sensed his desire, and leaned closer, pulled him into her arms.  "I have to go, child," she whispered in his ear.  "You'll be all right, just...  have a little faith." She kissed him one last time, and laid him down on the pillows again to rest.  "You won't be alone forever, child.  Just wait."

When he woke up for real, she was gone.  He told himself it had all been a dream.  Impossible.  A mad, impossible dream.  His personal datapad was lying on the table by the bed, and he picked it up to check.

An impossible dream that smelled like violets and left millions of credits behind.


End file.
